Fruits of Solitude
by Empress Guinevere Sparrow
Summary: Andromeda revisits old memories of her childhood, school years and adult life after dropping off her young grandson at King's Cross. Such memories make her revisit those already long past years and try to comprehend what went wrong. A Black sisters fic.
1. Prolouge

A/N: I originally started the concept of writing a Black sisters fic back in 2004 and I posted a couple of chapters of it in 2005, under the title of _The Forsaken Daughters. _Granted, I lost interest after awhile and because the Black Family Tree had shown up and messed around with the ages I hade determined for our favourite sisters, I found myself dealing with a nice dilemma on how I was going to make the story work out (I had a couple of chapters written already) So I abandoned it.

Now I'm back again after reading Deathly Hallows, and fully armed to invent a plausible story concerning those murky years of Voldemort's first reign and the Black sisters. So here's good luck to me and I hope you enjoy the story.

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**Fruits of Solitude**

_Prologue_

Walking hand in hand, my eleven-year-old grandson and I mingle among unsuspecting Muggles at King's Cross. It's a fine end-of-the-summer day, just hot enough to wear light clothing but with that fine chill as an undertone to herald autumn's entrance. Today, Teddy Lupin leaves his grandmother's home to begin Hogwarts. He's excited and jittery, not at all nervous as most first-years are. We weave ourselves in and out of the massive crowd, until we approach Platform 9. Teddy's trunk and grey cat are happily place upon a trolley, and Teddy, being the young absent-minded boy he is, almost collides into a telephone booth. I look at him and he looks at me.

Originally, I wanted to side-along Apparate with him but at Teddy's insistence we opted to go through King's Cross.

"You go first," I murmur to him.

He nods, summons all his strength and while no prying Muggle is observing, breaks into a run and passes right through the barrier that will lead him to Platform 9 3/4. I follow him discreetly and silently.

The Platform is full of adults, teenagers and small young children laughing, bawling or simply running around. The Hogwarts Express stands silent in all its majestic glory. I spot Teddy up ahead, babbling excitedly to a quartet of adults who are accompanied by five young children. The saviour of the wizarding world is already twenty-nine years old with three young children and a beautiful redheaded wife. His brother-in-law is also there with his own wife, a brown haired witch and their own two children.

"Hello Mrs.Tonks," Ginevra Weasley-Potter greets me, holding the hand of her six year old son, who is in vain trying to free himself from his mother's grasp.

"How are you, dear?" I reply, pecking her cheek and that of her son. I turn likewise to the black haired four-year-old who is hiding behind his mother. Harry Potter, holding his daughter in his arms, comes forwards and likewise greets me.

"We're fine, we wanted to come and see Teddy off," he says. Lily Potter squirms in her father's grasp.

"That's very kind of you," I say, ruffling Teddy's soft brown hair, who has come to stand beside me. Ron Weasley and Hermione Weasley-Granger greet me while an exuberant little girl grabs onto Teddy's pants.

"Teddy..." she whines. Teddy pats her head absent-mindedly, now looking nervous. It is almost eleven o'clock. I know he fears leaving me alone, thinking I'll be sad and lonely. He's partially right. I will be lonely for he has been my constant companion for eleven years. I have lost many friends and I have no family left besides a younger sister who, after 25 years of no communication between us, has been making a half-hearted attempt to salvage our relationship.

But sad? Not at all.

Maybe he is too young to notice but he is taking his first baby steps into the wizarding world and his first steps into maturity and into becoming the wizard his parents would have been proud of. I choke up at that thought.

Harry has now relinquished his daughter to Ginny and alongside with Ron, is boarding up Teddy's trunk and cat.

"You'll be fine Teddy," says Hermione reassuringly, juggling her small son in her arms. Teddy only nods dumbly.

"You're going to love Hogwarts," says Harry, who was finished boarding up Teddy's stuff. "You shouldn't worry too much, after a few days you'll be comfortable in your classes and soon enough you'll be dreading going back home," he continues. He gives his godson a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

"We'll take care of your grandmother," he adds.

"Do you think I'll be in Gryffindor?" Teddy asks, speaking for the first time.

"Sure, why not? After all, Remus was a Gryffindor," says Ron, shrugging his shoulders.

"Yes, but Tonks was a Hufflepuff," counters Hermione. "And anyways, it's not a hereditary thing."

I smile, thinking that maybe Hermione was forgotten about who Teddy's ancestors are, the all-exclusive Slytherin family that the Black house was once. Except for one family member. But I decide not to say anything. A whistle blows out suddenly, making Teddy give a startled jump. Students are giving last minute hugs and kisses and rushing off to the scarlet train.

Teddy gives his godfather a farewell kiss and hurriedly says goodbye to the three other adults. H takes his leave of the children and I accompany him to the train. "Promise you'll write every week?"

"Promise," I reply.

He hugs me tightly and I bend over to kiss him on the cheek. He starts going up the steps of the train and suddenly stops and turns around, his face aghast.

"What about my lessons?"

He is obviously referring to his abilities as a Metamorphmagus, a trait inherited from his mother. For the past year, as according to Ministry law, Teddy has had weekly lessons on how to learn to control and use his abilities accordingly. There is no use of wands as his ability is dependent only upon himself.

"The Headmistress has already seen to it," I reply soothingly. "You'll probably continue with them at Hogwarts."

"Sure?" he asks doubtfully.

"Sure."

Seemingly relieved, he gives me a bright smile so like his mother's and scurries inside the train. His head them sticks out of the nearest window, and as the train begins to move he waves to me and to the others. I wave back and the train rounds a corner.

My Teddy is gone.

* * *

Gone only temporarily but that doesn't stop the heartache that now weighs heavily in me. It brings back bad memories. Teddy has always been invited to the Potters' household and often he'd sleepover at his godfather's house, enjoying the stories of the Second War, of the Marauders and other miscellaneous stories that Harry could come up with. Anything relating to his mother and all he has to do is ask me.

But he's gone for nine months. I know I'll see him again at Christmas but still...

The others have already left, heading back to work or to drop off their children at home. I wander over to a green bench and sit down. Rummaging inside my hand bag and take out a slightly squished sandwich I prepared for myself early this morning. I stretch out my legs and look around at the now empty platform.

Platform 9 3/4, home of so many memories.

Memories like when Bellatrix first got onto the Hogwarts Express, followed two years later by my own ascent into the train. Platform 9 3/4, which had seen that fateful time when Narcissa attacked me in plain sight of everyone, calling me a blood traitor and a Muggle-lover after I had eloped with Ted.

The place where Ted and I accompanied Nymphadora as an eleven-year-old girl and every year after that. It's hard to believe she's been gone for eleven years, hard to believe Ted is also gone and my son-in-law, Remus, to whom I was just beginning to warm up to.

It's nor fair. They were all so young.

Nymphadora with her young twenty-four years, Remus and his thirty-seven years of life and Ted only forty-four. Their youth and the manner they were killed is what hurts the most. Ted, who was hounded out by Death Eaters, forcing him to go into hiding but even that did not save him. Remus who was killed by Dolohov in the final battle, by Dolohov who I had once counted as a friendly acquaintance.

But none of these deaths sicken me as much as Nymphadora's murder. My only daughter killed by my older sister. An aunt murdering her niece. A sister killing another sister's child. My mind still can't accept this.

I now know that at the end of her life Bellatrix was almost completely insane, consumed by her love for an inhuman being and old-fashioned ideals. I know that I should have grieved her death, but I have never been able to do it. I have no problem conversing with Molly Weasley, the woman who brought about my sister's demise.

Bellatrix, in the end, disregarded other people and their families. She underestimated her enemies thinking herself above them, but how easy it was to rouse her anger. She was arrogant and had goaded a mother who lost a child into a duel.

A duel which she lost.

Maybe she's better off dead. She can't harm others but most importantly she can't harm herself. I do not know what happens after we die, but I hold onto the hope that I will be welcome to whatever afterlife there is by my husband and daughter.

But death is not in my immediate future. I am only fifty-six years old and I now live for Teddy. Teddy who has given me a reason to continue and to keep on fighting to preserver the memories of husband, daughter and son-in-law.

My grandson is the future, while I am only a reminder of a distant violent past. But those times have come and gone, flitting in and out like the people who entered and then left my life. I have only memories left of those people, good and bad. These memories which now, more than ever, I am recalling them. They are the fruits of my solitude.

Over these past eleven years I have been trying to find out as much as I can about Bellatrix's role in the First War and the peculiar relationship between her and the Dark Lord. During those years, I was woefully absent from the lives of my sisters. I will be the first to admit that Bellatrix will always hold the position of being the more enigmatic sister, the one most difficult to understand, and for most it is extremely difficult to comprehend how such a seemingly normal girl began a morbid fascination with the Dark Arts. How she developed a taste for torture, for blood and pain. What did she see in Voldemort?

Some information I have gathered from Narcissa, who only began to talk to me after the battle at Hogwarts, after she found out that Bellatrix had murdered my daughter. I sometimes think that Narcissa feels guilty, perhaps because he son was close to death on many occasions but survived while my own child did not. My relationship with Narcissa is somewhat-strained, but what else can I expect? Too much has happened, too many barriers were set between us whne we were young women. We will never be like we once were. But I do occasionally owl her and I was even invited to the party held in honour of her newborn grandson four years ago.

But even Narcissa is reluctant to speak about Bellatrix nowadays. I do not think she knows an awful lot, for our defunct sister became more secretive as the years passed on and Bellatrix always resented that Narcissa never took up the Dark Mark.

But there is one woman who knows more about Bellatrix than Narcissa and I will ever hope to. Another fellow Death Eater, Bellatrx's most trusted "friend" and partner in crime. This woman is Callista Valloi Crowley, who currently resides in Azkaban with a life sentence pronounced on her. I have visited her numerous times in these past elevn years, thirsty for more knowledge on Bellatrix. Callista's story is also closely tied with ours but only becomes prominent during our last years at Hogwarts.

Perhaps by knowing more on Bellatrix, I will come to grips with Nymphadora's death. I am sure that if it had been someone else who killed Dora, I would not have developed this almost obsessive behaviour towards my dead sister.

I suppose I should refresh my mind, now that that phase of my life is over, perhaps now I will be able to understand how my sister and I became so estranged from one another. Us three are to blame firstly. We made our choices, we went down different paths but we were also affected by external forces, by changing and turbulent times.

After all that I've been through, taking a peek into the past won't hurt me.

* * *

A/N: Yes, you can obviously see how I feel about poor Andromeda's fate in DH. Damn you Jo.

Anyways, comments, suggestions and reviews are very much welcomed! I already have the first chapter finished, all I need to do is type it up and fix a couple of things. Anyhoo, hope this prologue was interesting enough to make some of you people wnat to read more.

Until then!


	2. Chapter 1: Origins and Beginnings

A/N: Just wanted to thank all the people who reviewed. This chapter is mostly introductions and contains some thoughts and ideas that will most likely show up later in either plot or character development. It's pretty short, but I'll try to make the next one longer.

I'd also like to dedicated this chapter to our recently defunct tenor. Loved the man, loved the voice.

_Nessun dorma!_

Without further ado...

_Chapter One : Origins and Beginnings_

To properly understand the Black sisters, one must understand our parents and family. Our father was Cygnus Black, a typical rich pureblooded wizard who had already suffered a failed marriage before marrying our mother. Father's first wife was a topic explicitly forbidden to talk about, it was something shameful, something to ignore and pretend it never happened. The Black family always strived to maintain pretence of normalcy. My father was born in 1929, only two years younger than Voldemort himself making him a fellow schoolmate of the century's darkest wizard.

My mother, Druella Rosier, was a sour-faced woman who didn't particularly like children but most likely saw herself forced into getting married and bearing children. After all, what else did a rich upper-class pureblooded woman do? Having a career wasn't an option for these sheltered women. I have always suspected my mother felt she had to compete with the shadow of her husband's first wife and besides having to deal with our three children, my mother was a good ten years older than our father, which meant she had to deal with the antics of a twenty-two year old man. It was only a marriage of convenience.

Despite what differences our parents might have had, they did share common opinions on pureblood supremacy, half-bloods, half-breeds and mudbloods. And thus, we were raised up in a manner according to our supposedly heightened status.

My illustrious family is hard to explain. The priorities of being a Black could be narrowed down to: always preserve and defend the family honour. Marrying amongst cousins was not frowned upon but was often used as a last reserve when one of the family could not find a pureblooded witch or wizard. We often said one thing and did the other. Contradictions in customs and traditions were prevalent, but that applies to many other families that were like ours. And last but not least, _toujours pur._

I can still recall our cold and frigid manor; the household were called home with its damp and humid dungeons, the elegant but devoid of feeling salon rooms, the dark hallways lined with portraits of our forefathers or house-elf heads, the majestic dining room in which we dined in perfect silence. I cannot recall a time when we stepped into the dungeons as children, when we were older I know I did, but we were forbidden from going down there. Father's study was also forbidden, but that was mostly from the fact that Mother knew about Father's penchant for the Dark Arts (he had one of the largest collections of books and artifacts concerning said subject) and did not want to expose us to such horrid things at a young age. But for us three, our happiness lay in the vast and beautiful gardens.

We were free in those blissful hours.

From a young age we were taught to be composed and respectful. It was almost as though being children meant being an adult but only in a miniature version, just not riddled with the responsibilities of one or bestowed with the liberties adulthood offers. Sometimes I feel they wanted to get rid of our innocence, as though our childlike purity disturbed them. But I should begin with introducing the Black sisters.

Bellatrix was born in 1951, when Father was twenty-two years old and Mother was a thirty-two year old witch. Audacious and raucous is the best way to describe her in those early years, the troublemaker and the protective older sister. She always looked older than her actual age; she was the first to perfect the art of having dual personalities. One was the one she presented whenever we had guests or prominent society members invited to our manor, the other was herself truly unmasked.

I was born a mere two years after Bellatrix, in 1953. Being the middle child, I will admit that I often got less attention than my other two sisters. Perhaps it was only a matter of circumstances. Bellatrix commanded and air of superiority whenever she strode into a room and Narcissa was surprising with her blonde beauty for the dark look dominated the genes of the Black family. I was always more discreet than my sisters, more withdrawn and I was the less likely one to lose my head in moments of panic (that was more Bellatrix's thing). I was ambitious and clever, don't get me wrong for I was once a perfect Black, and was in possession of a good memory. All of these traits would later help me in unlocking some mysteries concerning Bellatrix.

Narcissa was our mother's last attempt at having a son. Born in 1955, she was undoubtedly the most coddled of us three. From her young age she took her social appearance seriously. Unlike Bella and I, Narcissa never had the need to act different among adults. Truth to be told, she probably felt more comfortable around older people. If our parents had had a favourite, Narcissa would have been it. She didn't put up much of a fight when Mother began her process of detoxifying her of her childish attributes.

The frost between our parents was evident to all except for us. I always find it mildly amusing that we all managed to have fairly normal relationships with our husbands (no matter how brief it lasted in some cases) despite that we never had a good example of it at home. Our parents treated each other like acquaintances who hadn't seen each other for years. They usually just ignored one another. I first became aware of this fact when Mother took us to visit our grandmother.

We had finished teatime and us three were playing sensible games like puzzles and wizarding board games while Mother and Grandmother Rosier were cooped up in the adjacent room. I was nine years old and this conversation took place in the summer before Bella left for Hogwarts.

"Really Druella, I simply cannot see why you let Cygnus get away with such shameful behavior," I could hear Grandmother Rosier say in her trademark pompous and loud voice.

"What can I say? He is allowed to do as he pleases, replied Mother in her low and somber tone.

"It is one thing to divulge in such affairs outside the household but to bring his mistresses and his associates to his home is unacceptable," exclaimed Grandmother.

"Perhaps you should have thought of that before you gave me off to a much younger man," remarked Mother acidly. "I was much happier being a spinster."

"You ingrate! After you father I got you an extremely handsome and wealthy wizard as a husband, you have the audacity to come her and blame us for your marital problems! Druella, you know that if you had actually given some thought and enthusiasm to your marriage, it would have been bearable."

Mother did not respond to this honestly truthful remark. While Bella and Cissy played some game or another, I had been listening attentively to this forbidden talk. I didn't understand at the time but later I would, become aware of my father's infidelities and his guests who were of questionable reputation and the level of stress it caused in Mother.

Later that same day we departed for our grand old mansion. As soon as we arrived we headed straight for Bella's room. We all wanted to eagerly discuss (for the umpteenth time) Bella's approaching departure. We dashed up three flights of stairs before running down one of the mansion's innumerable halls and rounded a corner.

After settled ourselves on Bella's bed, Cissy and I awaited for Bella to open the discussion. These meetings were more like councils really.

"As you well know, next month I'm leaving for Hogwarts," commenced Bella, not able to keep out the pride in her voice. I looked at her glumly, jealous that I had to wait two more years before joining her.

Cissy must have caught the look on my face for she exclaimed indignantly, "I have to wait four years, so stop feeling sorry for yourself." I shrugged my shoulders.

"Don't be such a spoilt-sport, Dromeda! Think of what I'll be learning at Hogwarts, think of what _you'll_ learn once you get there," said Bella, smiling brightly. Power and knowledge was always what Bella had craved as a child.

Bella was our leader, the one who determined what games we would play, what hidden mischief we would perform without Mother being none the wiser. It would be dreadfully boring, for three to become two saddened me. Besides, Cissy and I were used to letting Bella take dominion; we had readily accepted her as our leader. Whenever she had a fit, we would let her, trying not to oppose her rule.

Don't think we never fought amongst ourselves, we were children once also and that meant fights for no good reason. Sibling rivalry affected Bella and I more than it did to Cissy, most likely because she was the youngest and mostly did not participate in our fights. Even though Bella was the leader, the fierce warrior who commanded us, Cissy was the queen, captivating because of her innate elegance and golden beauty and we all sought to protect her and make her happy.

And I?

As a child and later a teenager I struggled with my own identity, what role I played in the wonderful play we had invented for ourselves. Even as children we knew our family was not conventional, that there was something disturbing in it, so we tried to be as normal as possible, trying to fit into the molds of the stereotypes society had provided with us with. I suppose I was the lady-in-waiting or the page-boy, depending to who I was rendering my services.

Us three shared a particular bond, true, but in our own different ways we protected one another's back. Bella would confront the offender face-to-face and later curses and hexes were often involved. I was more efficient with my rather sharp-tongue and veiled insults, while Cissy (who was later Slytherin's very own queen) only had to ignore said offender, thus banishing him or her from her court. Despite being three, we had distinct personalities, sometimes assimilating one another's habits. And such it was more many years.

Nothing lasts forever and when September finally came, in that year of 1962, Bella boarded the Hogwarts Express and that was the symbolic end of an era. But that's a story for another time.

* * *

A/N: I'm pretty sure that the birth years are correct as are other information referring to the sisters' age differences. Now, I remember seeing some information floating around that Cygnus Black was thirteen when Bellatrix was born. However, I checked the Black Family tree and it says Cygnus was born in 1929, making him twenty two years old at Bella's birth. Granted, I do secretly wish that Cygnus was been thirteen, imagine all the psychological effects that would have had.

I would so have had a field trip with that one.

Anyways, next chapter should be up next week.

Read and review!


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